


Romantic, with a capital “R”

by SteelRigged



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intimacy, Oral Sex, Sex, What Have I Done, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteelRigged/pseuds/SteelRigged
Summary: Rolling around in bed together, Oliver and Felicity discuss their first sexual experiences, happy and unhappy.Archive warnings are for discussion of stuff that happened in the past.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas? Maybe? I didn't have a beta reader, so there are probably tons of typos. I'll go back and fix them when I'm less wrecked. I did not expect this to go where it did and then I couldn't back out.

She rolled over and propped herself up on an elbow, bunching the pillow under her arm for support and looked down at him. She didn't care that the sheet slid down as she moved, and now barely covered her breasts. They'd been naked together all afternoon.

“Really? It was Laurel?” she asked, amused. Still high on afterglow. 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Oliver huffed with a chuckle. He was on his back, arms under his head, looking at her adoringly. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and then let his hand slide down her bare shoulder. 

“Well I knew she was your first love," Felicity said, "I just didn’t think she was your first _love,_ too. I mean I kinda thought you had strippers popping out of a cake at your 16th birthday party” Felicity rolled onto her belly, hugging her pillow against her bare chest. That made the sheet slip even farther down, revealing the long expanse of her bare back.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, and rolled onto his side. The sheet was barely hanging off his hips, and he didn't miss how Felicity’s eyes drifted over his chest. He reached out and let his fingers walk down her spine. “Do you not remember anything about my mother?" he asked amused. "Moira Queen would not have tolerated naked girls in cakes.”

“But like…what about the adventures of Ollie and Tommy, out on the town?”

Oliver snorted and then rolled closer to her, one arm under his head and the other around her waist. “That didn't really start until college. Well senior year. Nothing earlier than Junior prom.” 

Felicity snorted. Then looked at Oliver wickedly. She bit her lip and tilted her head in conspiratorially.

“So what was it like? Your first time with Laurel?” 

“Felicity,” Oliver huffed, rolling his eyes even as he pet the hair back from her forehead. He might have blushed a little bit, too. Just a tiny bit. Oliver wasn't really the type to kiss and tell.

“I think it’s sweet," Felicity said, smiling, her face only inches away from his. "Were you her first time too?”

Oliver smiled back, and let out a defeated little exhale. “Yes.”

Felicity pressed her lips together and looked at him lovingly, and maybe a little condescendingly. Like he was adorable and innocent. Which left Oliver a bit confused. After a moment, he he tapped her forehead. “What’s going on in there. I can see the wheels turning.”

“Everything about your relationship with Laurel suddenly makes so much more sense,” Felicity replied.

Oliver tilted his head quizzically at her.

“You are a Romantic, with a capital R. You brood better than any unhappy poet of the 19th century.”

“I do?” Oliver asked amused and dubious.

“Shelley? Keats? Rimbaud? Lord Byron? All those starving young men who believed in the ideal of love. Grand, difficult, all consuming love.”

“I’m not a romantic, with a capital R or a little r.”

Felicity smirked at him. “My MIT English section was a history of sci-fi and superheroes, we read all the Romantics. They were all also obsessed with the struggle of man against nature, and man against death, and man against his internal self. You could totally be Victor Frankenstein if he was less concerned with science(!)” she mimed the exclamation point, and Oliver snorted when she did, “and more concerned with justice. Scarlet Pimpernel style. Which was also a Romantic work, if you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t. I have never read it.”

“First masked vigilante in literature. See, when realists or pragmatists want to change the world they start foundations and working groups and lobby the existing government. They do not put on a mask and wander the streets seeking to right the world's wrongs like Don Quixote.” 

“You think I’m tilting at windmills?” he asked.

She leaned over and kissed his bare shoulder. Pulled her hand out from under her pillow and smoothed down his spine. She gave him the puppy dog eyes until he smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. In return, she put a hand on his cheek.

“Oliver, no one in the world believes in your crusade more than I do. Except maybe Diggle. Which is fine, because I don’t want to be Sancho Panza.”

Oliver snorted and then gave her a proper kiss. He slid one arm under her head and spread his other hand against her back pulling her closer to him. Then he started humming into her mouth. She pulled back, confused and curious.

“What is that?”

“ _I have dreamed thee, sought thee, sung thee,_ ” he smiled “ _Felicity._ ”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Something I know that you don’t know?” he teased. 

“There are so many things you know that I don’t know.”

He rubbed her back and nipped at her neck. “It’s from _Man of La Mancha._ My mother loved the show.”

“Serenading a girl in bed? And you tried to argue that you weren’t a Romantic.”

He chuckled and rolled her on top of him. She squeaked and looked down at him amused.

“So did you like the brooding Romantic poets in your MIT English class?” Oliver asked, rubbing the top of her thighs.

“Did I not just say they invented science fiction and superheroes! I love the Romantics.”

“Then I guess I can be a Romantic. With a capital R.”

Felicity walked her fingers up his chest.

“You are a grand Romantic, and Laurel was your first love, and you exchanged virginitys--”

“I didn’t think we were still talking about Laurel.”

“--and so" she continued, ignoring him, "no matter how rocky or tragic the path, you were doomed to be lovers, returning to each other over and over again. Capital R, Romantic.”

“Doomed,” Oliver repeated, testing out the word.

Felicity leaned over and kissed his collarbone. “In the poetic sense,” she clarified, as she kissed at the corner of his jaw. “Fated,” she mumbled, as her mouth climbed the line of his law to just under his ear. “Predestined by the unkind Gods.”

“Felicity,” Oliver said huskily, right before he grabbed her and flipped her over. “I don’t believe in fate.” He let his mouth dance over the pulse points of her throat. 

“You are complicating my retcon,” Felicity moaned. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Stop this?" He kissed just behind her ear. "You love this.”

“I do love that.”

“Mmmhhhmm.” 

“It was a ball wasn’t it,” Felicity said breathily. “Some over the top Queen family event and you two ran away to the rose garden and got trapped in the rain, because it must have been over the top romantic to make such a serious impression on you.”

Oliver let out an exasperated groan and pushed his face into the pillow just over Felicity’s shoulder. “Can we please stop talking about Laurel!” It came out muffled, but his frustration was clear.

“Hey,” Felicity said, putting a hand on the back of his neck and petting it until he pulled his head up. “We are talking about your first time having sex, and how it changed you and made you into the person I love. Laurel just happens to be there, too.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, “Felicity, I just--”

“Oliver,” she interrupted him. “There is so much we don’t, can’t,” her face twisted as she tried to find the right words, “We should talk about the things that we can talk about. The good things.” 

Oliver let out an exasperated huff, then sighed again, a deeper and longer exhale. He nestled down putting his head onto her chest and played with the end of her hair as he began to talk. 

“It was the summer before senior year. Tommy and I had talked our parents into letting us get a cabana on the beach. We threw keggers and tried to pick up girls.”

“Sounding more and more like strippers in cakes,” Felicity said biting back a smile.

Oliver ignored her. “I met Sara first, at one of those parties, but she was a kid. And she shouldn’t have been there, so I took her home.”

“So adult and responsible. You didn’t try and pick her up?”

“Felicity, I was 18 and she was 3 days into being 15. It was illegal, but that wasn't the only reason it was never going to happen."

"Well not _never._ " Felicity teased.

"The gap between 18 and 15 is very different than the gap between 23 and 20," Oliver argued.

"Point taken," Felicity said, nodding in agreement.

"I know it's hard to imagine the Sara we know, now, as innocent and naive," Oliver continued, "but she was. She also had a chip on her shoulder and wanted to prove a point about being independent, and that night, she did not belong at a party full of drunk wanna be frat boys, because someone would have taken advantage of her. I took her home. I met Laurel when I dropped her off. We started dating not long after that.”

“Laurel saw you as heroic when everyone else just saw a party boy.”

Oliver kissed Felicity’s sternum. “Maybe,” he mumbled, clearly unconvinced.

“You have a type,” she said, running her hand through his hair, smirking. Her voice was full of amusement. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Maybe,” he repeated, returning her smirk. He pulled himself up and kissed her. He settled his lower body between her legs, nudging her legs apart with his knees. “Are you sure you want the rest of this story?" he asked, a hand tracing the side of her rib cage. "There are other ways we could learn about each other.”

“Yes. I want the rest of the story. I promise I will stop interrupting.” She mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key.

He chuckled, and flopped down beside her, defeated for the moment, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“So one night, later that summer, the planned party got rained out. It was a torrential downpour, a massive thunderstorm. Laurel called her Dad and convinced him that it’s not safe for her to drive home. Because it wasn’t. Her folks agreed to let her stay over, they weren't happy, but they agreed, in part because Laurel swore we weren't alone. I don't know how she convinced them that Tommy could act as a chaperone, but as soon as she got off the phone I made Tommy leave.”

“In the torrential downpour?”

Oliver nodded, looking slightly guilty. “I was a terrible friend.”

Felicity looked up, calculating. “Thunderstorm by the ocean. That’s almost as good as rose garden by a ball. Did you exchange promises of eternal devotion?”

“I did not swear eternal devotion.”

“Really?”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because I know you. Come on, tell me.”

Oliver chuckled, and rolled his eyes at the ceiling, embarrassed and amused. “There were some ‘I love yous’ but I didn’t have the vocabulary to swear eternal devotion.”

He tightened his grip on Felicity's waist and smoldered at her. "I've learned more words since then though. Even if I didn't make it through college." 

Felicity gulped. “You are good at _I love yous,_ ” she said breathlessly. 

Oliver scooted closer, still staring deeply into her eyes. “You're good at them, too.” 

She looked at him dubiously, her mouth twisting unhappily. Oliver was thrown, and completely confused by her reaction.

“I think you are very good at showing your love,” he said, wondering where her self-doubt came from.

She lifted her head and kissed him. Which weirdly felt like an attempt to change the subject. “Your first time sounds magical,” Felicity said. “That’s what a first time should be like.”

Oliver frowned. “That wasn’t what your first time was like?”

Felicity kissed him again. She pulled him in and wiggled against him. Pressing her body against his and wrapping a leg over his hip. It was very distracting. It was meant to be distracting.

“Tell me,” he said. “I told you.”

“No,” she said. “None of my firsts are good bedroom talk. Not my first kiss, not my first under the clothes petting, not my first fuck.” She closed her eyes and then faked a smile. “I did not lose my virginity to anyone I loved.”

“But Cooper,...”

Felicity's fake smile grew, edging into desperately. “Actually, Cooper was good. I mean in that way. And he was the first guy to eat me out. Which was amazing, and I did love him then. So, Yeah! Look at me! I have a first with a first love, too!” She pumped her fist in the air. “Achievement unlocked!” She pushed on his chest, guiding him onto his back, and climbed on top of him. “This calls for celebration.” 

She leaned down and kissed him one hand at the back of his neck, and the other sliding down his stomach. Oliver met all her kisses, but he kept his hands still on top of her thighs. “You’re not celebrating,” Felicity said with a pout.

There was a deep furrow in his brow. She rubbed at it with her thumb. “I know it can’t actually get stuck that way,” she said. “But wrinkles are still a thing, Oliver.”

“Felicity,” he said warily. “You know you can tell me anything.”

She sighed. “You don’t want to hear about how I lost my virginity. You’re not going to like it.”

That just made his brow furrow more. “I wanna know everything about you," he said. "I think after everything we’ve been through, you’d trust me.”

“Says Oliver _‘No Chill’_ Queen.”

“I’m not going to be jealous of someone you didn’t love.”

“I’m not worried about you being jealous. It’s just," she paused, "it’s not a happy story.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Oliver, the story of the first penis that was in my vagina ends with a man twice my age getting a 20 year jail sentence.”

“What?” Oliver growled. 

Felicity climbed off him and sat on the edge of the bed. “I told you that you weren’t going to like it.”

He scooted over to her. Tentatively kissing her shoulder blade, and wrapping his body around her protectively. 

“It shouldn’t surprise you,” Felicity said. “No one becomes a vigilante without some kind of damage in their past. Your’s was concentrated in a five year span, while mine was more diffuse. Much like how we wear with leather,” she pointed at him. “Concentrated.” Then she pointed at herself. “Diffuse.”

“You don’t have to be funny for me,” Oliver whispered wrapping an arm around her. 

After a moment of silence he reached over and cupped her chin pulling her face around to look at him. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said gently, his face full of love and concern. "I'm sorry I pushed."

Felicity looked guilty. “Don’t be sweet about it. Now I feel like I should tell you. But it’s just going to make you angry and it’s over. It was over a long time ago. He doesn’t deserve that much attention from either of us.”

Oliver pressed his lips together. “I’m not going to say I don’t already want to put an arrow through his chest, because I do. Even without knowing the story. But us talking about our histories, isn’t about him. I love you, Felicity, and I want to know about your first time and how it changed you, because I want to know you--”

“Using my own words against me is unfair” she groused.

“--Because, I love you," he finished.

“Says the man with all the secrets.”

He closed his eyes, and put his head down on her shoulder. “You really don’t have to tell me, but nothing you could say is going to change how I feel about you. How I feel about us.”

Felicity let out a slow breath, that quickly turned into a little whimper. She curled back into him and he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her in his lap.

“I wanna believe you,” she said.

“You are really good at believing in me,” he replied, speaking into her hair. 

She snorted and smacked at his shoulder. 

“C’mere” he said scooting toward the middle of the bed and pulling her along with him. He laid down again and tucked her in beside him, an arm under her head and her cheek against his chest where she could hear his heartbeat. He pulled the sheet back over their feet, and Felicity traced the outline of his abs with her forefinger.

“So my Dad left," she started quietly, “and after that I spent a lot of time in the casino cocktail lounge while I did my homework. Shirley Temples and cheese fries. Everyday. After school. Sitting at the bar. The first time I got groped I was 11, a regular grabbed my ass and asked the bar-tender what the going rate for jail-bait was.”

Oliver tensed up, pulling her in tighter. 

“My mom gave him a black eye and then got him banned from three different casinos.”

Oliver exhaled. “Good for Donna.”

“That’s not the story. Just the setting." Felicity paused. "My mom did her best to protect me, but I wouldn’t have been there at all if…” Her voice caught in her throat.

“Right now," he said, "you are here with me.” He kissed the top of her head.

She took a deep breath. “All my mom’s regular’s knew me. They all knew that the fastest way to get on her good side was to be sweet to her kid. Donna's definition of sweet. They tended to bring me things. Cellophane wrapped teddy bears in mugs, the type of crap that you get at a CVS. I hated it all, and she loved it. Like, for her, each crappy gift was a sign that she wasn’t just raising me in a bar, that it was a community that was going to look out for me. And there _were_ some people like that. Steve the bartender was great. And I got along really well with a bunch of the showgirls. But they were all adults, with adult lives, and I was a nerdy kid on a bar stool begging to take the cash register apart.”

Oliver smiled. “You didn’t,” he said, knowing damned well that she must have.

“I put them back together,” Felicity said. She put her chin on his chest and looked at him “And I’ll have you know Steve preferred my handiwork over all of the equipment guys the casino had.”

“Noted. Seems like a smart man, this Steve.”

She tucked her chin back down, and he kissed the crown of her head. 

“So anyway," she started again, "one of the regulars, let’s call him Humbert Humbert. He brought,” she took a deep breath, “better gifts. Transistors. Radioshack gift cards. Old broken game consoles that I could tinker with.” There was a catch in her voice. “I liked him. I told him that he was my favorite. I told my mom that he was my favorite. I told her that he was the good one, the one she should make it work with. And she said she wanted to. That she was trying, but that there just wasn’t any spark.”

She fell silent, still tracing the outline of the muscles on his chest, circling the ring of his Bratva tattoo. He waited.

“One day, I’m working on my Jr. High science project, at the bar, like always. I needed a book I didn’t have. Humbert Humbert offered to drive me to the library. Mom was skeptical, but I begged her. I begged her to let me go with him, and eventually she said _fine._ She gave in because I was persistent and whiny. So, I got into his car, willingly, and we ended up at a Motel Six.” She paused. “I can hear your heart beating.”

She didn’t say anything else for a while. Not until his heart had slowed back down.

“Afterwards,” she started again, “he cried and said that he loved me. And on the way back to the bar he bought me a giant waffle cone from some greasy frozen yogurt with a drive through. It was some terrible flavor, like tutti-frutti, and it was covered in peanuts. All it needed was a crinkly cellophane wrapper,” she snorted. “Things you remember, right?”

“Right.”

“He dropped me off and I walked into the bar with this giant melting waffle cone that I hadn’t touched, that I would never have touched, because it was poison and I was completely allergic to it. Mom looks at me up and down and asks _‘Where are your books!?’_ and I had no idea what she was talking about. Then suddenly I remembered the science fair and I started babbling and crying and telling her that I had decided not to do it. That I couldn’t do it. That my project wasn’t good enough. That it would never be good enough. She started crying too, and hugging me and saying over and over again that I was better than all of them. That I always had been, and that I always would be. No matter what. And for the next two weeks Mom took me to the library after school everyday instead of taking me to the bar. And the weekend of the fair she didn't go to work, she came with me and just did whatever I needed. Watched the booth when I went to the bathroom, got me pizza, water bottles, she even drove 45 minutes back for a circuit board I forgot. I ended up being the youngest person to ever take the All City Grand Jury Prize.”

“Congratulations,” Oliver said, his voice cracking. 

“Damn straight. I dyed my hair black and used the prize money to buy the entire DC Sandman collection in celebration.”

He squeezed her to him.

“So, how young were you?” he asked. “When you won the science fair?”

“14 and a half.”

Oliver closed his eyes and kept his breathing very steady. He tried not to grip her in a way that would cut off the circulation to her arms. 

“And your Mom?” he asked, his voice strained.

“I never told her.”

“And Humbert Humbert?” His voice dropped an octave when he said the name and he couldn’t keep the growl between his teeth.

“Well, as I was getting my trophy, he was getting arrested. Someone had tipped off the Las Vegas PD to his vast collection of kiddie porn. A couple of remarkably vulgar photos were sent directly to the chief of police.”

_"Good."_

Felicity put her chin back on his chest and looked at him again. He still had his eyes closed.

“You’re not going to get weird on me?” she asked. “I’m still the same girl that ravished you earlier.”

Oliver looked down and her and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that what happened earlier?”

She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. “Do you need me to remind you?”

“Yes. I think I need to hear you say it again.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “That I ravished you?”

“Ravished,” he mouthed, looking up at her with heart eyes. “Sounds awfully romantic. With a capital R.”

She snorted, amused, as he worried his thumbs over her hip bones.

“I think I like hearing you say it,” he said.

She bent down and kissed him. He wrapped a hand around the back of her head, threading his fingers into her hair. They kissed gently. Oliver pulled air in deeply through his nose and then let it out again without ending the kiss. Once. Twice. Three times. She tugged at his bottom lip and he lifted his head to chase her lips. But she pulled away, sitting up again.

He sighed.

“Go on,” she said. “Ask. It will make you feel better.”

“Can I overreact a little? Because I’d really like to put an arrow through that guy's testicles. At the very least. And that wouldn't necessarily even be lethal.”

She snorted. “He’s still in jail, but I will keep that offer in my back pocket in case he gets paroled and there is a chance he might hurt some other kid.”

“Good” he said, reaching up to touch her face. She leaned into his palm and then he sat up, chasing her, wrapping an arm around her back and kissing at her collar bone. He pulled her legs around his back and then squeezed her to him, pressing his cheek into her heartbeat.“You’re amazing,” he said. 

She kissed his forehead. “Statistically, it’s an incredible common experience.” 

He cupped her cheeks, palms along her jaw line, and looked up at her seriously, “You are not a statistic.”

She dove for his mouth. Kissing him insistently, tugging at what hair he had, and gripping the back of his neck insistently. She ground her hips against him and he let out an involuntary moan. His hands wrapped around the ends of her hair and then slid down her spine, lifting at small of her back to catch the ends of her hair and follow the path again. He stroked her desperately, but carefully, not letting his hands wander as low as he normally would. As low as he had only a hour or two ago.

Felicity wrapped her arms around his head and squeezed. Oliver squeezed her back, fiercely.

She kissed his ear, and tucked her head into his neck for a second. Oliver squeezed harder. 

“You're still thinking about it, aren’t you.”

“No.”

“Then why are you trying to crush my rib cage.”

Oliver took a breath and loosened his grip on Felicity. He kissed at her collar bone, at the divot in her throat, at the soft front of her esophagus.

“I’m thinking,” he started, slowly carefully, “that I need to figure out some new way to court you.”

“Court me?”

“Charm you, dazzle you, express my undying devotion without seeming seemingly like a brooding 19th century poet,” he put a hand under one of her knees flipped them both over. So she was lying on her back under him. “I don’t want to be a cliche.”

Felicity giggled. “You are incorrigible.”

“Then why do you encourage me?”

“Because I am a belligerent optimist. And despite all the evidence, I refuse to accept the obvious hypothesis and cling to the idea that happiness can be captured.”

“Captured?” he asked, twining his fingers into hers where their arms met above her head.

“Properly constructed given the necessary elements,” she wiggled underneath him as she spoke. 

“Which are?” he asked, letting a hand run down the side of her body. She shivered and her hips pushed up toward him. He kissed her sternum and then trailed kisses downward, over her belly button and along the fine trail of down at the bottom of her abdomen. He held her hand the whole way, pulling her arms down after him.

“I don’t know yet,” she said with a catch in her voice, “but I think I’m getting closer.”

“Are you?” he asked, kissing along the inside of her thighs. “I’ve barely gotten started.”

“You’ve,” she said with a gasp, as Oliver kissed closer to her core, “got a dirty mind.”

His breath was hot against her crotch, as he chuckled. She whimpered as he teased her. As he wrote poetry with his tongue upon her clit and vulva. He hummed and traced and tickled, and she slowly came undone. Not that slowly. They’d been touching, and whispering, and holding an intimate space for so long tonight. She needed the release. Oliver needed to give it to her. He was steady and relentless and she grabbed the sheets and balled her hands into fists while her thighs tensed and her back arched.

It wasn't long before she yelped at the ceiling and gasped out his name, then fell back panting. He rested his head on her thigh. His fingers still feeling the residual pulse of her orgasm. She let out a long heavy sigh.

He looked up at her, just a hint of worry around his eyes. “Are you happy, Felicity?” he asked. 

She bit her lip and pawed at him, pulling him back up even with her. She rubbed at his temples and tried to kiss the worry lines away from his face. “You know damned well that whenever I’m with you I’m happy, Oliver. Even when I shouldn’t be. Even when it makes no sense because we’re running around in the cold with bad guys trying to hurt us.” She could feel his doubts in the tension of his shoulders. “Oliver, you are so deep under my skin I barely know who I’d be without you. It’s never happened before and I don’t quite know what to do with it. But even when you’re wrong, or have your head up your ass, or have me so angry I can’t see straight, or so terrified I can’t think, being near you makes me happy.”

He let out a little huff of laughter. And then looked at her quizzically. “No one’s ever been this deep under your skin?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. She rolled her eyes. “Felicity Smoak,” he said teasingly, “are you trying to tell me that I am your first passionate love affair? That you’ve never felt about anyone the way you feel about me?”

“What! No! Maybe? I’ve been in love before. And I have passion. I was passionate about that monitor over there, for instance,” she said pointing at the desk on the other side of the room. “It called to me and demanded that I take it home and care for it properly.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her. “So I am your first then.”

Felicity gaped, at a loss for words. After a moment she managed to close her mouth and swallow. She licked her lips. “What do you want me to say? You make me reckless and impulsive in a way I’ve never been before? That it’s terrifying how many things I never thought I’d do that I have already done for you? Instantly. Without any hesitation. And I would go so much further. Is that what you want to hear?”

He kissed the vein throbbing on her throat. Feeling the racing pulse of her heartbeat under his lips. “Sounds kind of Romantic he mumbled. With a capital R.”

“You’re terrible,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and squirming as his hand slid down the side of her body.

“You like it.”

“I do. God help me, I do.”

In a moment he was nudging her legs apart with his knee, again, centering himself between her legs. He let a hand run down her thigh until his fingers felt the soft tender spot behind her knee. He pulled at her leg gently, urging it to wrap around his back.

“Felicity,” he gasped, as he slid into her, “everything about this is a first for me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I need feedback on this.


End file.
